


Blood on the Road

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen, follow up story to Blood in the Sun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a follow up story to Blood in the Sun.<br/>A common question that they ask is "Why can't it ever be easy?" This follow up story, shows that the sort of problems the guys are know for started way back at the beginning of their saddle tramp days. This time an injury prompts as 'should I go or should I stay' problem</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

He stood on the edge of the boardwalk, his once fine suit showing signs of a man who had ridden far and hard with covering distance on his mind. Peering up and down the Main Street of Cassoday and rolling the well-chewed cigar in his mouth, he thought, 'they must of skipped this hole.' A block further and across the way, he read 'Dodd's Store' painted in large yellow letters across a larger display window. "Might 'en as well, get supplies," he grunted and turning he stomped down the sun-warped boards of the walk as if the townsfolk did not exist. When a pure moment of revelry swept over him and spitting out the cigar, he leapt to the muddy street below, "Hannibal Heyes!"

Hannibal and Jed's mouths dropped open, their eyes darting in unison to a voice they well recognized. It was Frank Rucker, the man they had double-crossed. Well, not really a man, but a monster, as Hannibal had labeled him, after the blood baths they had witnessed Rucker and his gang perform. Looking back to each other, their frozen state broke, and they bolted for their horses. 

The first shot flew from Rucker's Remington before it had scarcely cleared the holster. 

Grabbing his reins while clutching the burlap sack of goods in his off hand, Jed swung aboard his gelding before the second shot was fired. The bullet missed him, thwacking into the hitch rail and shooting splinters into the muzzle of Heyes' long-legged mare; whinnying sharply, she reared, twisting her head. 

"Easy, girl, easy..." Hannibal rushed forward with his hands held out to her. 

Her eyes rolled white, she snorted at him with her backside slinging about like a knot on the end of a rope. 

Another crack from Rucker's pistol reverberated off the building's tall, false fronts and with a final plunge the mare snapped the reins. A fourth shot followed rapidly on the heels of the others and Hannibal stumbled backwards. His brown eyes became a stark contrast to his pale face as he watched his horse run away while not even realizing he had crumpled to his knees. 

"Han?" Jed yelped, flinging down an arm while removing his foot from the stirrup, "Han!"

Hannibal shoved off the ground, lunging for the swaying stirrup. His toe hit the mark and he knew all would be fine, despite the undiluted pain expanding with molten heat across his chest. Because, it had to be, he and Jed were together and that always made everything alright. But, then his muscles seized, his hand slipping, and he was falling. But, true to course, Jed was faster. He had him and was hauling him on when the buzz of a hornet breezed them and Dodd's display window erupted; jagged shards crashing both inside and across the general store's wide-covered porch. 

"Grab hold," Jed barked, kicking his horse so hard, the gelding flung mud a good eight-feet in the air as it raced along Cassoday's Main Street. 

Firing until his pistol answered back with a click, Frank's voice rose to a pitch bordering lunacy as he hollered after them, "Go on and run, I'll still get you...you hear me RUN, I enjoy the hunt."

The businesses bled into fine Victorian homes, little ornate boxes one after another lining the road, all with their perfectly tended gardens separated by even more intricate iron fences. 

Turning in the saddle, to get a look at his cousin, Jed asked, "were you hit?" 

Through gritted teeth, Hannibal replied, "just grazed me, keep going." Truth was, he could feel blood soaking his shirtfront and each hoot beat was like being slammed by a hammer.

The residential district slipped away, the homesteads becoming larger farms and the road began a slow curve, angling away from the banks of the Neosho. Reining the big bay in, Jed's adolescent voice cracked, squeaking, "should I go all the way down to the bridge or cross here?" . 

"Cross...just cross, no time to waste." Hannibal gasped, clinging tight with his good arm. 

Jed veered his horse from the road and his gelding snorted, eyeing the steep bank and water beyond. "Nate, I ain't got the time for you to look at it, 'till you figure out it ain't gonna bite you." Jed scolded, kicking the horse over and over until it plunged into the swirling current. 

The river was deeper and stronger than expected and weighed down double, Nate was struggling to keep his head above water. Without discussion they slid from his back, each latching hold of a stirrup. 

Hannibal sighed, as the water incased him, the coolness easing the fire building in his chest. But not the pain. It hurt worse than anything he had experienced and their escape was sapping his strength. Slipping his forearm deeper through the stirrup, he gritted his teeth, still a throaty groan escaped him. 

"We're almost there, hang on." Jed pleaded, "Hang on. You hear me? We're close, don't let go." 

Then Nate's stout legs were striking ground and when Hannibal felt his own legs drag bottom, he did let go, and fell to the muddy bank with a plop. Rolling on his side, he saw Jed was heading toward him in a stumbling run before he was even fully on his feet. "No! Catch up, Nate."

Spinning, Jed tore out after the gelding, deftly sweeping up a trailing rein. Nate looked irritably at the boy before shaking for all he was worth. The rigging flapped, jouncing about noisily, and the water spraying from him became flashing gemstones in the golden, evening light. 

Climbing up the bank with one hand clasped to the bullet hole, Hannibal was biting so deep into his lower lip that a vivid white line had appeared. Though the rushing current had cooled him, his now wet shirt was rapidly refilling with blood that streaked ghastly patterns down his front. 

"Sweet Jesus..." Jed cried, dragging Nate after him as he tried to run for his cousin, "what can I do?" 

Growling and shaking his head, Hannibal went to Nate's off-side, hauling himself into the saddle, he slid behind the cantle, to once more ride atop the saddlebags. 

Jed stood staring cow-eyed up at him, twisting the reins round and round in his hands.

"Kid, I'm fine," Hannibal cajoled, releasing one of his bright, dimpled smiles, "really I am, come on." 

Back in the saddle, the dirt road once more became a blur and the constant rocking, rhythm created spasms of pain for Hannibal. It rolled brilliantly through him, over him, until he gave in slumping against Jed's back.

"You ain't passing out one me, are you?" Jed warbled, sounding every bit as young as he was. "I won't be able to catch you this time. Han?" Getting no response, he whipped the tail of his reins, one, two, three times across his cousin's thigh. Their sudden sting worked for he felt Hannibal sit up straighter, "stay with me. All right?"

"Tryin'." Hannibal answered and worried he peered back across his shoulder, hoping to not see a trace of Rucker, What he did see made the weak portion of hope he was holding onto crumble to dust. "Uh, Kid, you best take a gander at our back trail."

Doing just that, Jed saw a perfect, solid-line of hoof prints. His eyes squinted and he shook his head. All around them tall, undulating grass bent toward the road. The grass would leave just as strong of a trail, but at least, here on the road, Nate was not likely to lose his footing. 'What am I to do?' Jed thought, and feeling his cousin turn again, he asked, "You see 'em?" 

"If I did, wouldn't I say so!" Came the quick retort. 

"Don't be getting proddy with me." Jed snapped off just as quickly, realizing this had become pretty much an established reply for him. Well, at least, since they had run out on the Rucker gang several weeks back. For some reason, he could not seem to do or say much of anything that did not give Hannibal cause to bawl him out. Thinking this over more, a notion came to Jed, "Hey, I thought you read in the paper, the Sheriff's posse from Paulsville rounded up the Rucker gang?"

Squeezing his eyes tight, Hannibal swallowed, thinking, 'yeah, just not Frank.' 

"You knew he was out there. You knew, didn't you!? That's why you've been keepin' us on the move." Jed exclaimed, not slowing Nate as he turned him down the embankment toward a thick, spreading line of trees. 

It was all Hannibal could do to keep from crying out, as the gelding's jagged hops, jerked him about. He was afraid if he let himself holler even once, he might never be able to stop. 

"And, it's why you been lookin' over your shoulder so much, it's like you've developed a twitch." Jed snarled, his anger starting to rise Damn it, we're supposed to be partners. That's what you said, ain't it Hannibal. And, here you knew and said nothing to me." 

Clinging tighter to Jed as bright sparks dazzled his eyes, Hannibal grunted, "could we possibly have this argument later?"

At the trees, Jed saw right away there was no clear trail, "why can't we ever get a break?" He asked, half under his breath.

Only to hear his cousin mutter, "this won't work."

Wanting nothing more than to curse the world, his life, and especially his cousin, Jed ducked a thick limb, "I'll find a way." Unfortunately, he did not think to warn Hannibal of the limb and it struck him mid-chest to sweep him with a raspy shriek from Nate's back. Leaving him curled in a ball, both hands clutching his wound, keening and gasping all at the same time. 

Jed jumped from the saddle, sputtering and squawking, "Ah hell, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'll pay better attention." Wrapping an arm about Hannibal's shoulders, he tried to get him to sit up, "I really am sorry, Han. Come on, let's get you back up on Nate. I'll be more careful, swear I will."

"Leave me be."

Jed sat back on his heels, "what?"

Hannibal's nostrils were flared wide as he hissed, "I want you to get on Nate and leave."

"Without you?"

"You'll be able to get clear without me...for Christ's sake, GO!"

"This ain't headmaster Milton back at Valparaiso I'd be leaving you for. It's Frank and Han, he plans on killing you."

Snagging Jed's sleeve, Hannibal hauled himself up, twisting the shirt's fabric as he did, until it cut into Jed's skin. "Kid..." They were nose to nose and it came to Jed there were tears on his elder cousin's face. He could not recall the last time he'd seen Hannibal cry, not even when Milton had whipped him like he was no more than a mongrel dog. But, beyond the tears the dark eyes were hard, serious "...Someone from our family has to survive." Then shoving Jed from him, his voice became so authoritative, it was obvious he expected to be obeyed, "now get the hell out of here!" 

Jed looked to Nate huffing for air, his cousin breathing harshly in front of him, then to the trees surrounding them. A gleam came to his blue eyes as he studied a fat stand of red cedars, "All right...all right, but not till we get you hidden first."

"There ain't time."

"Then I ain't leavin'."

Despair appeared in Hannibal's eyes, "if I agree, do you promise to leave?"

Licking his lower lip, Jed nodded.

"Say it."

"I promise."

Shoving his legs under himself with a loud grunt, he let Jed haul him to his feet. 

"I want you to walk light, try not to leave a trail straight to you." Jed advised, pulling most of his cousin's weight on himself. But, considering how skinny Hannibal was, it did not feel like much at all. Once he had him in the cedars, Jed reached for Hannibal's hand that was clamped across the upper-right part of his chest, "let me see."

Hannibal shook his head, "Nope, you promised to leave." 

"I did." A corner of Jed's mouth curled up, "I just didn't say when."

"Kid, I ain't playing games. Get on Nate and ride out."

Ignoring the look of sheer rage aimed at him, Jed removed his bandana and then Hannibal's, tying them together, he fashioned a sling for the limp right arm. "How's that?"

Hannibal hissed through gritted teeth, "it's time for you to fulfill your promise." 

Jed's jaw flexed. 

"You dang well know what Grandpa Curry said about promise welchers." 

Jed's chin dropped to his chest, after a few seconds, he peeked up with a slight grin, "I'd say, Grandpa would understand."

Hannibal exhaled, his dark eyes slanting toward Nate, "How about this? Once you lose Frank..." He pointed at Jed, "and, I mean lose 'em! You come on back for me."

Jed's lips became a flat line.

Recognizing the mule coming out, Hannibal rubbed his hand across his face and then peeked at Jed with a slight smile, "Think of it this way, you aren't really leaving me. Your leading that monster away from me. Come on, Kid, it's a good plan. Hell, I'd even slap my name on it."

Folding his arms across his chest, Jed stated, "I ain't so sure this one has the high-standards required for a 'Hannibal Heyes plan'."

"Why do you always have to argue with me?" Sighing out his frustration, Hannibal dropped his head back against the tree trunk, "Without me holding you back, I know you can lose him." Raising his head, he gave his cousin, his best smile, "Kid, don't you know I have faith in you."

In his chest, Jed could feel the heavy thudding of his heart, but more powerful was the suffocating sensation that seemed to be saying, 'you ain't never going to speak with him again.' Taking off his hat, he scrubbed at his scalp, his blond curls falling across his forehead, "Han--" he swallowed, his throat too tight to speak, he swallowed again, and squeaked out, "Hannibal...I--"

Nodding, Hannibal patted him on the leg, "I feel the same, always have. Now go." 

Jed tilted his head to the side, biting on the inside of his cheek as he studied the one person he had in the entire world. 

"Please, Kid, do it for me."

Running a hand back through his hair, Jed shoved his hat on, and rose to his feet, "I ain't leaving you, I will return."

Pointing at the ground he sat on, Hannibal quipped, "and, I'll be right here." 

Jed Curry stared at his cousin when without a word he walked off, catching his horse, he climbed aboard and spun the animal until the area was thoroughly trampled. Glancing at the cedars, he frowned then left at a fast trot.

Hannibal sighed, feeling the burning lump of pain in his throat drop into his heart, "best of luck, Kid."


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their blood journey continues...how is it shaping them?

Pulling the cumbersome Colt Dragoon from its holster, Hannibal Heyes laid it across his lap. The longer he sat there, the more alive the forest sounded and the more forsaken he felt. After a bit, he began fumbling with the buttons of his blood, crusted shirt; only to find it was stuck to his skin. Frowning, he rubbed at his brows until with a long exhale, he set to peeling the fabric free. He gingerly inspected the torn flesh, amazed how swollen and hot it all was. When hearing a strange, harsh sound, he looked up, and realized it was his own breathing. That was when way, down, deep in a twisting panic began to build. Raising his dark eyes to the green canopy above, the leaves seemed to sway as if in a storm and he felt like he was falling. Which he knew was silly, because he also knew he was seated on the ground. Shaking his head, he looked up again, but still it felt like he was falling, falling, and then nothing. 

"I knew it! I knew, I got you."

Hannibal's eyes snapped open.

"Looks like I did a far-sight better than I thought, too."

Over where he had come off Jed's horse, Frank Rucker was squatted admiring the tips of his fingers. And, seeing him so close, Hannibal's jaw clenched tight. 

"Damn, but I sure hope it hurts something fierce." Rucker said, rising to his full height, he tilted his head to the side. "Hmm, what the hell were y'all up to here?" Then in ever expanding circles, he studied the torn up ground. 

Each time, Rucker crossed the space of ground leading to the cedars, Hannibal held his breath, until at last Frank Rucker swung aboard his horse and headed west. The same direction Jed had taken. Hannibal drug his lower lip across his teeth, his blood pounding in his ears so loud, he could hear nothing else. Crimson faced, he clenched the pistol, tighter and tighter hating himself for ever talking their way into being members of Rucker's Gang. "Damn it, I should've killed him while I had the chance," he muttered and then the reasonable side of his mind stated, 'you would've missed using your left hand.' 

His eyes darted to the heavy Colt and he dropped it, "No, Pa taught me killing was wrong. It was one point, he was always adamant about." Frustrated, Hannibal thunked his head back against the tree trunk, 'still, I should've tried. Nothing else, it would've drawn that monster to me and away from Kid.' 

'That's it,' he thought, smearing the moisture from his thick lashes, a tremulous smile tracing across his mouth. Taking up the pistol, he awkwardly thumbed back the hammer; knowing once he fired, Rucker would return to kill him. Even as his finger began to tighten on the trigger, it came to him, Jed too would return. Frowning Hannibal, reset the hammer, 'no, I won't lead Jed into an ambush, least this way, out there, he has a chance.' 

Outside the trees, Jed's eyes watered, as he rode straight into the sun. Throwing a look over his shoulder, he could see little more than his shadow trailing out, long and black behind him and he prayed the searing, orange light was blinding Frank Rucker just as badly. 

When his horse's hooves clacked across rock, he pulled Nate to a halt, hopping from the saddle. Leaning tight against the gelding, Jed closed eyes, counting to twenty. The red ball behind his lids faded and once he opened his eyes, he was able to see enough to scan his backtrail. There was no sign of the predator, he knew, was tracking him, 'maybe, luck is on our side, for once.' But, recalling the state his cousin was in, he snorted, so loud Nate's ears twitched and the horse turned to look at him. 

He patted the gelding and looking again down the trail, he untied his saddle bags and canteen, placing them over his left shoulder. Rubbing Nate's neck, he slipped off the bridle, "you've been a good horse, now go make a good run of it." And, stepping back, he whipped the reins across the horse's rump. 

Nate bolted. However, it did not take him long to realize, there was no rider keeping after him and he ambled to stop. After looking Jed's direction a time or two, the bay gelding fell to grazing. 

'Why couldn't you just keep running? Why's it always got to be the hard way?' Jed's face twisted into a scowl which aged his boyish features and with a shake of his head, he unsheathed the new Peacemaker; Hannibal had gifted him. He hefted the pistol, its blue steel glowed in the fading light and he could smell the oil he cleaned it with daily. Reluctantly, his blue eyes lifted to Nate contentedly grazing. Then Jed's mouth tightened into a flat line and his arm rose like a released spring. The Colt discharging, destroying the evening calm as its bullet plowed a groove across the gelding's hind quarters. 

Nate's head flew up with a scream, his rear feet kicked out, and the gelding took off. He was running flat out, tearing up sod, and crushing vegetation; truly creating a trail that could be followed even at night. 

Dropping the pistol back in its holster, Jed muttered, "sorry boy, but, you gotta lead him away, so I can get back to Han." He rubbed at the back of his neck, hating what he had just done. And, knowing the shot would draw Frank straight to him, he slipped off to find a hiding spot. 

He had not been hunkered down long, before he heard Frank. The fact was his gray horse was now standing on the same spreading chunk of limestone, Jed had been standing on minutes before. Staring at the barrel chested man, Jed considered shooting him, shooting him dead. Yet, as much as he hated, even feared Frank Rucker, he had never shot anyone. And, the thought of actually killing him, twisted his stomach, making him feel more than queasy. But, his moment for action or inaction disappeared quickly, because seeing Nate's obvious path, Frank with a 'hurrah' spurred his horse. 

Swallowing heavily, Jed set off east into thick, purpling light that turned to the deepest gray under the trees. He could make out where his horse and Frank's had passed and set to following the trail.

A pale, half moon lit the world by the time Jed found the area, he had rode roughshod over earlier. Striding toward the stand of fat, red cedars, he quietly called out, "Han, it's me... Don't shoot me, all right."

There was no reply. 

Inching in, he stepped on Hannibal's Colt discarded in the dirt. "Han?" 

The cursing twitters of small, roosted, birds were his only answer. Moving deeper, he found Hannibal slumped over. And, forevermore, Jed would swear, in that moment he felt his heart stop; at least for a beat or two. 

Dropping to his knees, he lifted his cousin's head, not a sound or movement came from Hannibal. "Damn it, Han... no!" Jed's throat grew so tight, his voice sounded like it had to fight to squeak through, "you can't be dead. You promised. You promised... You'd always be here for me!"

With exaggerated slowness the dark eyes opened, "Hey, Kid." 

"I thought you was dead."

"There you go thinking again." Hannibal said with a sigh, it had a haggard sound like ones that come from bone-tired old men. "Keep telling you, that's how you get yourself in trouble."

"Just shut your pan." Jed snapped, trying to cover how vulnerable he had not only felt, but sounded moments before, "you want a drink?" 

Hannibal nodded. 

Assisting him into a sitting position, Jed thought, 'he feels as cold as meat in a winter smoke house.' Uncorking the canteen, he held it out and watched Hannibal's handshake like a bare tree in a blizzard. Moving closer, Jed placed the canteen to his cousin's lips, feeling shivers slip down his own spine. 

But, Hannibal drank, not just a timid sip, but, long, slow gulps, one after another until he pushed the canteen away with a gentle smile, "Look at you, taking care of me."

Spinning the top back on the canteen, Jed muttered, "someone's got to, you never do." Then scootching in alongside of Hannibal, he slid his arms about his trembling cousin, wrapping him in close. "Go back to sleep, at first light we'll be on the move. I gotta get you to a doctor."

Snuggled against each other under the fragrant, cedar trees, Jed tried not to worry, but his mind kept circling around, too... 'what if he dies?' Still despite this, his stomach gurgled so long and loud, it would have been humorous under a different circumstances. 

"Dang, Kid, you best start in on some of that jerky, we bought back in Cassoday."

"Can't, I dropped our bag of goods when I hauled you on Nate."

Hannibal did not reply. 

Silence settled all around them and Jed figured his cousin was asleep. So, inhaling deeply, he tried to encourage himself to do the same, when his stomach set up another ruckus. 

Hannibal mumbled, "sorry, Kid," and with a cough cleared his throat. "Been thinking, we should've stuck it out back at the orphanage, ain't none of my plans been panning out." 

"Ah, most days we make out all right." Jed gave him a slight squeeze. "We're just having a spell of bad luck. It'll turn around, you'll see."

Hannibal nodded and after a bit, his breathing became more shallow as he slipped into sleep. 

Biting at his bottom lip, Jed thought, 'it has to turn around, don't seem like it can get much worse.' After what seemed more than an hour, he drifted off. However, his rest was fitful, he would wake often, his first thought each time, 'is he alive?" Then carefully, he would lay his hand across his cousin's damp chest, only relaxing when he felt a steady thump beneath his palm. At the pinking of dawn, he was going through what had come to feel like a ritual and Hannibal raised his head, giving him a crooked grin. 

"I'm still here. You seem to forget pretty easy, I'm half-Curry and like all Curry's, I'm damn stubborn. You ain't going to get rid of me that easy." 

A genuine smile sprung from Jed, the first one Hannibal had seen since before they exited the General Store.

"Let me have a drink and then get me on my feet."

Adjusting his grip, Jed tried to keep as much as Hannibal's weight on him as possible, as he did beads of sweat dripped from his face to splash on his shirt front. If a person asked him, how they had made it this far, Jed knew he would not be able to rightly tell them. All he knew was, he was tired and his tiredness mattered little to him, because whenever he looked over at his cousin, he knew he was worse. But, on the horizon, Jed could see the bridge spanning across the Neosho river and a faint smile came to his lips, "Ain't much further now. You'll be able to rest by the bridge, 'cause somebody's bound to come along heading for town and we can catch a ride."

Placing one foot in front of the other, Hannibal thought, 'screw resting, if it weren't for my promise, I would just give in. It would feel so good to give in.' His whole shoulder and everything attached to it felt like he was being stabbed with a white-hot poker. But, licking his lips, he swallowed and said, "If'n you're in need of rest, Kid, I suppose we can sit a spell."

Jed's mouth started to turn up in a smile, until the fear he felt walking with them, choked it away. 

They were nearly to the old cottonwood spreading its full limbs out toward the bridge when Jed caught the sound of a galloping horse. An uneasy feeling crawled over him, almost as if somebody had walked across his grave. Standing straighter, he popped his shoulder, bouncing his cousin up and off him, "Han, step behind me."

Hannibal stumbled, his boots twisting in the dirt, and Jed reached over; steadying and herding him, "get behind me."

"What?"

"Behind me... NOW!"

The horse coming into view, was exactly the big gray Jed feared it would be. No, not feared, knew it would be and there was not time to find cover or hide.

Frank Rucker pulled his horse up so fast, the gray half-reared, throwing a shovel full of gravel across Jed as he slid to a stop. 

"Done told you Lil' bastards, I would catch you. Hell, been easy, you've left a trail of blood a blind man could follow" Frank's eyes slid to Hannibal and he smiled giving him a wink. "Well, I'd say it don't look like you're long for this world."

Jed's shoulders squared, his right hand hovered over his Colt. "Turn 'round and ride away, I don't want to kill you, but I will."

"HA! YOU!?" Frank's mouth opened wide releasing a barking laugh, "Is you really baring them suckling teeth at me." He laughed harder and spit in the dirt, "Hellfire, I ain't worried, baby blue. I knew the day, I met the pair of y'all, which one was the viper. You think it was chance I shot him, yesterday?" Frank edged his horse closer and looking pointedly beyond Jed, he sneered, "put a gimp in your walk, didn't I?" 

Head held high, Hannibal took a swaying, step forward, "Your quarrels with me, not Jed, leave 'em be."

"Boy, what you gonna do. There ain't no fight left in you."

Jed's eyes narrowed until all the blue disappeared, "Frank Rucker, this is your last warning, now ride away."

"Well, hell, Baby Blue, you gonna be this serious, leastways let me dismount, so we can do this right." And, slinging a leg across his horse's rump, Frank pulled his pistol, in the same move. 

Even as he spun, to carry out his underhanded deed, Jed's arm flinched. The Peacemaker was in his hand, flame spouting from the barrel, and an eruption of bloody mist exploded from Frank Rucker's chest. 

Frank's legs wobbled and when he fired, his bullet reaped a furrow in the dirt. Floundering backwards, he slammed into his horse, the gray spooked, running off the road. For a long moment, Frank drifted, back and forth, before landing hard on his backside. "Hellfire... " he gasped, blood gushing from his mouth. Looking to his hand, he raised the Remington pistol, with his arm wavering, he cocked the hammer. 

Jed's Colt boomed, again.

And, Frank's wrist became twisted carnage, his six-shooter plopping in the dirt, with a puff of dust. The outlaw leader's breathing was coming in gasps, each gasp spattering blood from his mouth across his front. Clutching his chest, the blood ran thick through his fingers, "Damnation, Blue, you've done killed me."

Walking forward, Jed picked up the Remington, shoving it under his holster belt. 

"Nope, didn't think you had it in you, sure didn't."

Looking calmly down on the man whose atrocities he had run from, Jed holstered his Colt, "I find, given enough persuasion, everyone has it in them. And, you persuaded me." 

"Suppose I did, didn't I?" Frank eyed the pool of blood spilling out onto the road between his spread legs. "Hey, Blue, first kills hard, after that, they all come easy... "a horrible, gurgling laugh rose from Frank "... yuse a man-killer now, Blue, welcome to my world." His laughter turned to guttural gagging and with a final gulp, he slumped forward dead. The thick crimson stream inching toward Jed's boots. 

Stepping back, Jed's shining, glazed eyes focused on the blood. 

"Kid?"

Jed's breathing was speeding up, coming in quick pants.

Popping him hard on the back, Hannibal snapped, "Jedediah, get the horse."

Taking a shuddering breath, Jed rubbed a hand across his mouth, looked once at his cousin and then went after the big, broad-chested gray. The gelding skittered sideways. "Easy Gat, easy Gat, come on you know me," he said, soothingly, holding out his hand and easing closer. 

Gat took a hesitant step forward, then his head flew up, his nostrils flaring wide, he snorted.

Jed leapt for the dragging rein.

Gat backed up faster, the rein flipping out of reach and with a spin the horse ran away with its tail flagging out behind him. 

Kicking the dirt, Jed hollered, "damn it!" 

"It's all right." 

"No, it's not. We... You need that damn horse."

"Like you said, Kid, we'll make out, we always do."

"Suppose we do," Jed grunted, wrapping his cousin's left arm up around his neck and shifting his weight upon his own shoulders. They moved off once more together, their boots clomping hollowly on the deck of the wooden bridge. "Here have a seat on the railing." 

Hannibal shook his head, "let's keep on."

Jed looked sideways at him.

"Feeling more like myself," Hannibal stated, stepping out, almost leading Jed. 

With a sigh, Jed's eyes slanted to the wide railing where his cousin should be sitting, but kept walking

They had made it to the bend in the road, where they had forced Nate to forge the river, the day before and Hannibal found himself thinking, 'maybe, I should've stopped back there.' From the corner of his eye, he studied his silent cousin, 'No, we had to keep going, there is no way, I wanted him sitting there staring at Rucker."


	3. Blood on the Road, part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've escaped Frank Rucker, but dire straights are still plaguing their every step

The farmsteads were still a distance off, but seeing their outlines on the horizon, Jed felt reassured. "See there, Han, we'll get help at the first place."

A grunt was all the reply Jed received, as Hannibal had become lost in the slow panic, he felt building in his midsection. Some ways back, he had hit a point where he wanted to give in and sink to the ground. But, instead he had been using the relentless beat of the throbbing pain to keep him moving. 

Jed too was at the end of his limits. He was tired, like he had never felt before, his muscles seemed to be crying out for rest. Stubbornly, he bowed his head, placing one foot in front of another. Feeling Hannibal slipping, Jed once more, pulled his cousin's weight up and across his aching shoulders. 

But this time, Hannibal gasped, his breathing sounding like a bellow with a hole in it, "let me down." 

"Come on, Han, where's that share of Curry stubbornness you brag on."

"'Bout used up."

"Then you still got enough to keep going. Sides, it ain't much further."

"You've been saying that since we started out." Hannibal panted, digging his heels in. "I tell you, I'm done..." and, with a sideways jerk, he pulled free, falling to the dirt with a thud, before Jed could stop him. 

"But... " Jed looked to the horizon, "I'm telling the truth this time, I can see a windmill and rooftops."  
Hannibal stated flatly, "fine, you go on without me," pulling off his hat and dropping it in the ragged, roadside grass.

Jed's blue eyes followed the rotation of the windmill turning lazily against the colorless sky, then with a sigh took a seat. "You want some water?"

Hannibal's head was resting against his bent knees and his reply was a muffled, "don't want none."

Taking a long drink from their canteen, Jed's eyes squinched tight as he watched his cousin, who was drawn so tight and pale, his skin had a bluish cast. After a minute, he poked Hannibal in the leg, "I think you oughta take a drink."

Although, his words were still muffled, their hardness cut deep, "leave me alone, just let me be, Kid... damn." 

Jed fiddled with the canteen a bit and exhaling, leaned in closer, "just take a drink."

Hannibal's head rose, he was almost nose to nose with his cousin. The dark brows pulled down tight over his narrowed eyes. 

Jed's grin appeared, "Grandpa Curry, would say you look like you decided this was all sour grapes."

The left corner of Hannibal's mouth twisted into a sneer, his dimple grooving deeply into his cheek. 

"Yup, sour grapes."  
"You haven't an inkling of what you're talking about, Kid."

Jed's smile grew larger, "Then how about a drink?"

Glaring hard, Hannibal said each word low and separately, "leave me be."

Leaning away, Jed took another drink, before spinning the cap on the canteen, and setting it on the ground between them. His eyes strayed to the far off windmill and then to his cousin, who was back to resting his forehead against his knees. "How long you want to sit here?"

The silence between them was buffered by a softer version of the ragged breathing, Hannibal had been doing since they had stopped. 

Drawing patterns in the dirt, Jed peeked at his older cousin, "Han?" 

Hannibal answered, his tone sounded much kinder, almost pleading, "go on without me," 

Picking up a handful of pebbles, Jed said, "don't want to leave you here alone. You ain't in no shape to defend yourself."

Hannibal bit his lip, restraining his desire to blurt out, 'Frank's dead.' Only, because, he did not want to throw it in Jed's face, how he had killed a man. But, with Frank gone then so was the danger. Raising his head, Hannibal rested his chin atop his knee. Scrutinizing his younger cousin, he could see exhaustion hanging on him along with frustration as one rock after another bounced across the road. Exhaling, Hannibal's face softened, 'I forget, most days, despite how ornery and tough he is, Kid's still the little boy... ' sadness almost suffocated him, '...I had to lay on top of, to keep from running out into the gunfire that was cutting our Pa's down.' 

The pebbles all gone, Jed dusted off his hands, and with a quick swipe of his shirt sleeve under his nose, stood up. 

Hannibal's brown eyes tracked his movement. 

"All right, I'll go get help ... but you just recall later, leavin' you behind wasn't my idea." 

Hannibal tilted his head back, his eyes filling with the somberness of a penitent, "I'll take this one all on me." 

Jed's mouth twitched and he nodded. Before turning away, he looked back down the way they had come. Suddenly, he stiffened, leaning forward, his expression more focused, then a full-fledged, cheeky, smile erupted. "Someone's coming." 

They stayed motionless, watching the two horse surrey change from a child's toy to the magnificent rig drawing up alongside them.

The driver was a friendly faced man with eyes that sparkled with a merry charm. "Goodness, lads, it appears the worlds been downright unkind to you."

Dallying his team's leads, he removed a fawn color bowler, placing it on the seat, and stepped down. Road dust speckled his polished shoes as the red fringe on the surrey danced above his head; as if the rig was still jouncing down the road. Striding over to the pair of boys, he hitched his perfectly, ironed pants up and squatted, "I would say, you are in need of a good Samaritan."

Hannibal looked from the bright blue eyes before him, up to his cousin's blues, and back before shifting; to reveal the blood-crusted sling, securing his right arm to his chest. "Suppose, we are."

"Then let me, be the one, to show you this world still has kindness in it." The silver-haired man said with a wink, such a sincere, warmth coming from his expression it set Hannibal back. 

Standing he, he patted Jed on the shoulder, "shall we load your pal up?" He asked, with a large smile, hooking a thumb toward his rig.

Hannibal stayed as he was, but he was studying the man. From his well-made suit, to the flower in his lapel, to the expensive rig. Running his tongue over his teeth, he cleared his throat. "What are you wanting from this?"

The would-be-rescuer, giggled and it came out in little short bursts of air, "Suspicious one, are you? Well, that be a good way to approach this life. Normally, I'd say you could owe me." He giggled again, looking from one rag-tag boy to the other, "but the pair of you don't look to be the type to take out credit vouchers."

The cousins shared a look, not a muscle moving in their faces. 

The man grinned knowingly as he watched their silent conversation. 

Then Hannibal held up his good arm and with some effort, the driver and Jed, loaded him into the surrey. 

"Hang tight," their rescuer called out, flicking the lead lines hard. 

When the horses lunged forward, an extended groan rolled from Hannibal. 

"Sir, I don't mean to tell you how to handle your team," Jed's tongue flicked across his lower lip, his arms wrapped about his cousin who was lolling about like a half-filled feedbag. "Still, I think a slower pace might be more better."

"I think not, I have seen men two-days dead who had more rose to their cheeks than your friend. No, I would say haste is needed." 

Hannibal's eyelids fluttered, quivering a few seconds then he slipped away, hanging heavy in Jed's arms; causing Jed to squawk, "can't you make 'em go any faster." 

The leads snapped several more times, dust whirling away from the spinning yellow wheels like chaff in a high wind. 

 

ASJ----ASJ---

The grizzled doctor rubbed a hand across his sweating brow, leaving behind a streak of blood. Bending closer, he glowered at the precise stitches he was creating; not liking how much blood the boy had lost in the past hour. Snipping the thread, he straightened, arching his back. As he did so, he cocked his head, his patient's face was so young it had not yet felt the edge of a razor. The dark eyes were moving behind the lids and he knew they would open soon. Just as they had, repeatedly, while he had rummaged about in the angry, gunshot wound. 

Rinsing his hands in a basin, the doctor glanced to the blonde boy who had been staring out the window. “Hell, y'all ain't nothing but rags and bones, the both of you,” plucking a towel from the pile beside the basin, he dried his hands. His eyes drifting to the red water, he shook his head, “Your pal's lost too much blood, not sure what hopes I have for 'em."

Jed didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he only nodded. His lower lip was redder than a MacIntosh apple, from where he had been chewing on it; trying to ignore the sounds emitting from his cousin along with the smell of putrid flesh and blood that had overtaken the room, since the Doctor had picked up his knife. 

"Like I said, before, can't be givin 'em any laudanum for the pain, figure if'n I drug 'em it will most likely outright kill 'em.”

Jed nodded, again. 

But, a weak voice said, “It... don't hurt so... bad, Doc.” 

Moving to the table, the Doctor, replied, "Well, hell, of course it don't." He laid a hand on Hannibal's forehead, continuing in a gruff, wizened tone, "fact is they never do, must be why everyone enjoys getting shot so much.” Not feeling any fever, he shoved both his hands into his pants pockets, throwing a hard-look Jed's direction. “What y'all been eating? His blood’s thinner than mountain air.”

Jed looked quick to the floor, muttering, "same as most folks."

Hannibal shifted, his stung pride making his voice sound stronger, "We make out all right."

“I can see that," the doctor replied gruffly, stepping to a door in the rear of the room, he opened it, revealing a clean kitchen and a plump Indian woman rolling out dough. "Zee, fry up a mess of calf liver, leave it 'bout half-raw. This here boy needs something, pumping in his veins right quick.” Looking to Jed, who had moved up to the table, the doctor shook his head. "Hellfire, fix up a double batch, the other one's paler than Zeus' mustache." 

“I ain’t hungry, Sir.” Jed lied grudgingly, not sure how they were going to pay for all of this.

“Why of course you’re not, but indulge me."


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road has been bloody and more of a learning experience than either of them wished. But, maybe the whole game is preparing to change for them.

Doctor Garrison’s face settled into a frown as he eyed, the man on his porch, over the top of his wire rim glasses. With a shake of his head, he pointed with his newspaper; he had been pulled away from, “Seems to me, yuse the one who dumped them half-starved boys on my steps.”

“I suppose from your point of view that is what I did.” The man answered, not looking the least bit ashamed. “I had business to attend to.”

“Humph!” Garrison grunted, “Jed says you called yourself a good Samaritan, the way you up and ran I wouldn’t go that far, that’d be for sure.”

The man held out his hand, “I’d like to make amends. I've come by to check on the boys.”

Doctor Garrison looked at the offered hand and crossed his arms. 

Lowering his hand, the man nodded, “I understand you aren’t feeling too terribly favorably about me. Still—“

Interrupting him, Garrison barked, “Is they yours?”

“Heaven’s sake, no,” The man stated, slipping his hands in the pockets of his finely tailored slacks and shaking his head woefully. “Figure they must be waifs from the war or some such, they're not mine.”

The corners of Garrison’s mouth quirked as he eyed the big city attire the man wore, “Uh hum, suppose I ain’t seein’ much resemblance between you and them.”

“Names, O’ Sullivan… Patrick O’Sullivan.”

“And, that's what to me?”

The polite bearing of the man shifted, his blue eyes darkening some, “I came here to settle their bill as I've a distinct feeling they're a bit short on funds.” And, forcing out a smile, he removed a fat wad of bills from his wallet. 

“I has a feelin’ they is a bit short on everything, includin’ someone to watch over’em.” Garrison replied, taking the offered money and sticking it in his vest pocket without bothering to confirm the amount. “If ‘in what you say is true, I suppose I need to alert Sheriff Adams I got me a pair of orphans.”

O’Sullivan looked beyond Garrison’s shoulder into the soft light of the house. He could hear the sounds of the noon meal being cleaned up and a soft humming arising from the woman at work. “As I stated from the beginning, I would like to speak with the boys.”

Looking back into his parlor, Garrison frowned deeply, then with a shrug, said, “Well, who am I to stop you. They ain’t mine neither. “He slapped the newspaper down on a tall back chair sitting on the porch. “They is a friendly pair, good manners too… someone was raisin’ em up right at one time. Still they is too young to be on their own and too old for anyone to want ‘em and I’m too old to take ‘em on. Can’t see wrangling a pair of wet behind the ears boys whose already figured out how to get themselves nearly dead.” With a sigh, he motioned O’Sullivan to follow him. 

Tapping on a door at the end of the hall, Garrison opened it, “Hannibal, you've a visitor.”

Hannibal’s eyes rose slowly, fluttered and with a cough, he replied, “Thank you, Dr. Garrison.”

“Ya holler on out if ya need to.” Garrison said, looking pointedly at O’Sullivan.

Hannibal’s dark eyes scanned his visitor’s bright white shirt to his spotless suit and matching hat and, said, “You’re the good Samaritan from yesterday.”

“That I am.” O’Sullivan replied with a warm smile, rocking onto his heels and back down.

“Thank you for bringing us in.”

“You're most welcome. I've also paid your tab here allowing you time to heal up without worries.”

Hannibal’s face pinched his eyes shifting to the window. 

“Now that, my boy, is what I was hoping to see.”

Hannibal’s lip jutted out, his jaw firming up as he bluntly asked, “What’s that?”

“That you don’t like the idea of being beholden and would like to fix the situation forthwith. However, I surmise your finances won’t allow it.”

Hannibal sucked on the inside of his cheek, his dimple dipping deeply.

“Am I correct?”

“Unfortunately, you've read me and the situation accurately.” 

“Do you mind if I sit and talk?”

“Don’t suppose I have a choice.”

“Every person has a choice, young man.”

A cynical barking laugh that was well beyond his years, erupted from Hannibal. “That is a hell of a falsehood to spout off with. I know all of you, only see me as nothing more than a boy, but I've seen lots of people, myself and my pal included, who have the ability of choosing taken clean away from them.”

“You're a quick one, aren’t you?” O’Sullivan said.

Hannibal flashed him a smile that disappeared just as quickly.

Pulling a chair near the bed, O’Sullivan took a seat. “Let us begin anew. We haven’t been properly introduced, I'm Patrick O’Sullivan.”

“Hannibal.”

O’Sullivan smiled at the brisk, short response and playfully said, “I haven’t seen your excitable friend about.”

Hannibal’s brows furrowed his face drawing tight. 

“My apologies, I was attempting a bit of humor. I rather admired how level-headed your friend remained during the crisis. He appeared quite unruffled.”

Hannibal flashed him a half smile that was even faster than the earlier one.

“Is he around?”

“Kid, is gone on an errand.”

“Kid?”

“Jed, but he’s always been Kid to me.”

“The pair of you seem close. He was rather protective of you.”

“I feel the same for him.”

“Do you mind if I ask, how old you are?”

Hannibal’s eyes shifted to the side and after a moment’s thought, he shrugged, grimacing at the quick stab of pain he brought onto himself. “I turned fifteen back in February.”

“And, the Kid?”

“He’s younger than me by two years.”

“Have the pair of you no family?”

“What kind of game are you playing at Mr. O’Sullivan?”

O’Sullivan looked to the windows, his blue eyes watching the curtains billowing in the breeze, “Was it the war?” Silence answered him but when he looked back, Hannibal nodded. “Thought perhaps it was.”

Hannibal’s eyes were searching the room like he wanted to escape.

“You ask what game I’m playing at… I'm considering hiring you.”

Hannibal’s eyes widened and he scratched at the side of his neck, his mouth pulling enough to make his left dimple come to life. 

“Would you be interested?”

“Might be. But, I don’t do anything without Kid.”

“Figured as much. Now, why don’t you tell me about yourselves?”

“Ain’t much to tell, we lost our parents, and we’ve been doing odd jobs to stay afloat ever since.”

“Is Kid your brother?”

The dark eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together, as if hiding a secret. 

“So, he is.”

“No. Well, he might as well be. He’s my cousin. We grew up together.”

O’Sullivan nodded, “Can you read and figure?”

“Mr. O’Sullivan, I don’t mean to be rude, but I ain’t in the mood for this questioning game your playing at.”

A soft laugh rolled from O’Sullivan, “Suppose you aren’t, and yet, if I'm looking to hire you, I do have the right to ask.”

A frown crossed Hannibal’s face causing both his dimples to emerge from hiding. “Yes. We can both read, write, and figure. We were raised right, in a good family.”

“How well can you read?”

“How does this relate to the job you're offering?” Hannibal asked, his thinning patience revealing itself in his tone.

“Exhibit some patience and you'll find out.”

Clearing his throat, Hannibal stated, “Will all of great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this, my hand will rather make multitudinous seas incarnadine turning the green one red.” 

“Ah, the Scottish play. What’s being said?”

“Talking about guilt. How you carry your guilt with you always, knowing you’ll never be clean. That your guilt is so great not even an ocean could make you clean, but rather your guilt would dirty it.”

O’Sullivan rubbed a hand across his chin, “Nice comprehension, I take it, you enjoy reading.”

“I do, a book takes you away and lets you step outside yourself and your worries. Then when you close the cover it leaves some of itself inside you.”

“So true,” O’Sullivan said, removing his hat and walking it around in his fingers by its curled brim. “Tell me about the dead man in the road.”

A smooth smile rolled out setting Hannibal’s dimples to dancing, “Don’t believe I’ve read that book, Mr. O'Sullivan.”

O’Sullivan smiled right back, “Slick aren’t you.”

One dark brow rose sharply. 

Still smiling, O’Sullivan shook his head. “Yes, you already play the game well.”

Hannibal tilted his head some, his black jagged bangs slipping from place. 

“The dead man in the road is the story of a man whose life blood has left him. And, not too far apace, from where a young boy is also spouting his own blood all over the road. It is such a coincidence, it makes the reader think; these two must know each other. Or, I suppose the way the plot has twisted… that they used to know each other.”

Looking O’Sullivan straight in the eyes, Hannibal said. “It doesn’t sound like a story I’d care for.”

O’Sullivan shifted, the chair beneath him squeaking in protest. “Maybe not, but, do you suppose it is a story the Sheriff would care for?” Although Hannibal did not look away, his eyes dilated just a touch. O’Sullivan only saw them do so because he was watching so closely. They stared at each other for a good minute and moving to stand, O’Sullivan stated. “All right, have it your way.”

Hannibal’s tongue darted quick across his lower lip, “I don’t think you should bother the Sheriff.”

“Then tell me about the dead man, Hannibal.” 

A long sigh escaped taking Hannibal’s confidence with it, leaving him looking his age and vulnerable. “I told you we take odd jobs, really anything we can get. Sometimes they're hard to find… there being two of us and all. We were crossing Western Kansas and we hadn’t had much work and we were starving. We were even out of bullets to hunt with.” He peeked up to see if O’Sullivan was listening and saw he was. “Well, we came across these men with a herd of cattle. I talked our way into food and rides in exchange for caring for their Remuda. Problem was, we found out later, those cattle were rustled. Turned out, those men, did a lot of things, neither of our Pa’s would have approved of.”

Hannibal had been picking at a loose thread on his shirt and stopped talking all together, his eyes remaining focused on the menial task. 

“Go on.”

“They weren’t just thieves, they were brutal, real killers. And, Frank Rucker was their leader and he is also the dead man in the road. See, he explained to me that if I tried to leave with the knowledge of who they were, and what they looked like and such forth that he’d kill me. But, not before he killed Kid slow and made me watch. I believed him.” Hannibal looked up, his eyes shining in the afternoon light. “I’d seen what he had done to others and knew he weren’t blowing hot air at me.”

O’Sullivan ran a hand back through his hair and nodded. 

“Then my moment came, the gang was robbing this train, truthfully, it wasn’t so much a robbery as a massacre. And, Frank he told me to go get the horses, only thing was, when Kid and I got ‘em; we rode out to alert the nearest sheriff.” Pausing, Hannibal took up the water glass from the bedside table drinking it dry. 

“I recall reading something about them in the papers. Didn’t the Sherriff’s Posse confront the outlaws and those they didn’t shoot, they brought back for a jury to hang?”

“Yes. Except, Frank, he escaped. I knew he had, because, I read the same articles you did and not one of them mentioned Frank’s name. And, kind of like that itchy feeling you get on your scalp, I could feel him on our trail. I kept us on the move. Still, he found us, right here in Cassoday and that is when he shot me. Kid and me we got away from him. But he was like an old coon dog and no matter what we did, he kept catching our trail. I knew we weren’t ever going to shake him. So, I shot ‘em.”

Through all the telling, O’Sullivan’s face had remained as blank as a blind man’s gaze, “You shot him.”

“Yes, Mr. O’Sullivan, I did.”

An airy giggle erupted from O’Sullivan, “You shot him?”

Hannibal sucked his lips in, the frown that appeared made his dimples deepen until they pitted the sides of his face and through gritted teeth, he stated. “Yes, I shot him.”

“When I assisted you into my surrey yesterday, your holster was empty.”

“I must have lost my pistol."

“You lost your pistol?”

“Things got pretty touch and go right fast.” Hannibal said, his eyes losing some of their intensity, “… I don’t know, somewhere along the way I lost it.”

“I see.” O’Sullivan moved his hat from his knee to the bed. “I'm good at noticing details, Hannibal. And I noticed Kid was wearing a Colt. I believe they call the model, the Peacemaker. I would say he used it to create some peace for you and him.”

Hannibal leaned forward, his stitches shifted pulling and he winced, “It weren’t Kid, it was me.”

“Then that bulge in your saddlebag…” O’Sullivan pointed to the low dresser by the door, where Hannibal’s saddlebags laid. “And, the bit of wood sticking out, that isn't your pistol?”

Hannibal turned to look and froze. His eyes returning double-fast to O’Sullivan, “Why are you pushing this? I already admitted I killed Frank Rucker, what more do you want?”

The same airy giggle erupted once more from O’Sullivan, “Your game face is slipping, Hannibal. But, we can keep playing if you like. Because I've another detail, like I said I'm good at details. See, you're wounded on your right side. You're also right-handed.”

“And?”

“You're going to have to work, a whole lot harder to make me believe, you outdrew a murdering outlaw leader.”

Though Hannibal’s face remained neutral his eyes darted from O’Sullivan to the door to O’Sullivan to the window and back to the now laughing O’Sullivan. 

“You do play the game well, my boy. You really are quite the convincing liar, and for the most part you're difficult to read.” Hannibal started to speak, but O’Sullivan waved him down. “I got my own standards of right from wrong. And, I deem the pair of you outwitting Rucker and opening the door to hell for him, well, I just don't necessarily see that as wrong. Not sure a judge would go along with my summation, but there is little a judge and I would agree on. I told you I was thinking of hiring you, well, I needed to see if you could think under pressure, and if you could carry out a good solid lie. You passed with arrow straight accuracy.”

Hannibal’s mouth parted, his eyes drifting to the side, then back to O’Sullivan although his right eye was now squinched a bit closed as he studied the older man. 

“That outlaw game didn’t suit the pair of you to your liking, now did it?”

Looking to his hand, Hannibal ran his thumb across his fingertips, repeatedly, watching the movement. “It wasn’t what I was expecting.” 

“No. It doesn’t sound like it was. Well, my game doesn’t require violence. In truth, violence interrupts the flow.”

Hannibal’s brows rose as his eyes slanted toward O’Sullivan. 

“I would like you, and Kid, of course, to join my team of professional grifters.”

A corner of Hannibal’s mouth turned down. 

“It requires using your smarts against another, a game of wits you could say.”

“How would we go about that?”

“First, I’d have to train you. You would learn all kinds of skills. I'll load you up with tricks you’ve never thought of… Kid, too.”

Looking back to his hands, Hannibal saw they were clenched together and could not recall doing this. He sighed, thinking how much he hurt and how he would like to lay down. But after a full minute he looked at O’Sullivan, “we accept your job offer.”

“Don’t you want to discuss it with Kid first?”

“No. I’ll convince him to this is a better way.”

“All right. Soon as you're sufficiently healed, we'll travel to my home in San Francisco. Once there we can begin your training in earnest. How does that suit you?”

“Just fine, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

“Good. Good. From here on out we'll be like family.” As he said this, O’Sullivan would have sworn on a pile of crooked playing cards that he saw Hannibal’s eyes not only brighten but their dark brown color lighten some too. “Here are the rules, though, we’ll start the pair of you out and at the end of three months; if you, Kid, or I do not feel we're a good match than I'll give you fifty dollars for your time and you both can be on your way.”

“Will we be expected to pay for our food and board?”

“Not at all, as I said, as long as you're under my roof, we’ll be like family.”

“And if we change our minds after three months, “you’ll give us fifty for trying.”

“Yes. But I have a feeling you’ll be staying.”

“Maybe. Maybe not, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

O’Sullivan nodded, “All my friends call me Silky and as my wards in training, I would definitely deem you closer than friends.”

A quizzical look came to Hannibal’s face, “Silky?”

“Oh, that is a tale for another day.”

A small laugh flowed from Hannibal, “I plan to hold you to that.”

O’Sullivan smiled fully and warmly, “That would be fine. Now… “ he leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees. “…the first change I’d like to implement, is we're going to cease having you introduced by your first name.”

The dark brows dropped low, “Why?”

“It’s far too memorable; a conman doesn’t want a name which draws attention. So, Hannibal what is your middle name?”

“Joshua. It was my Pa’s name. And, even though you make what we’ll be doing sound like fun and games. I fully grasp that we’ll still be thieves and I don’t know, but…” He shrugged, winced, and grinned sheepishly. “… I don’t feel right using my Pa’s name in that way. Do you think my last name would suffice?”

“Which is?”

“Heyes.”

“Heyes will work quite nicely. Then it is settled soon as you’re well enough to travel, we’ll head home and start the pair of you out in a brand new game.” Another airy giggle exploded from O’Sullivan, “See I told you I was a good Samaritan.”

Quick as a wink, Hannibal Heyes’ large, contagious smile appeared, “Not so sure about good, maybe a middle-of-the-road Samaritan. You're definitely getting something for all you are giving.”

“My boy, that is the first rule of a con. Both sides need to feel they're getting something worthwhile.” He patted Heyes on the leg, “you're going to be an ace-high pupil. Now get some rest.”


End file.
